Of snow blizzards and knitting circles
by Thefreakoutsideyourwindow
Summary: 'This could not be happening right now. Not now, not ever and certainly not in a place like this.' Based off of a prompt from tumblr. One-shot, USUK & birth.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: I got the idea from this prompt : Imagine that Person A is pregnant and ends up giving birth in the most awkward place/time you can think up. From otpprompts . tumblr . com To get me back into writing after exams. Enjoy!**

**Duck is a Derbyshire term for 'dear' or 'lovie', basically, it's a pet name.**

* * *

This could not be happening right now.

Not now, not ever and certainly not in a place like this. The united kingdom of great Britain and northern Ireland would have never seen this coming. Labour was never going to be easy, he knew that oh so very well, but he expected to go through it in a hospital, with competent staff within an arms reach and his lover's breaking hand being squeezed to death in his. So when his water broke in the middle of a group knitting circle, Arthur Kirkland was not pleased.

He was terrified, actually.

The whole duration of his pregnancy had been, surprisingly, peaceful. His first assumption consisted on the thought of food poisoning, as if the saturated fats in America's burgers weren't enough, but when the nausea persisted past the first two weeks, he went to the doctors in fear of an infection. Turned out that it was far from it. America, although surprised, was also elated with the news and soon enough they were fitted with a house each to live together in both England and America.

For the final trimester of his pregnancy, England was comfortably suited in one of the many cosy cottages in the peak district, more than content to spend his remaining weeks until the baby was due with his people. Of course, there were very few select people that he could reveal this circumstance to, but he had known them all their lives and trusted them deeply. It was with those thoughts in the middle of the freezing January that he found himself in Rosemary's cottage, happily knitting away the slight cramps that had built up over the hours in an old but comfortable arm chair, throwing in his two cents in the light and airy chatter in the knitting circle.

Until his water broke.

Snapping up from their cotton creations, heads look at England in shock and worry as the atmosphere of the room was quickly plunged into cold water as the splashing sound of liquid broke them out of their daze. Feeling spreading warmth soak through his threadbare trousers, Arthur glanced down with mixed emotions upon realising that, indeed, his water had broke, and murmured a quiet, "Oh dear..."

Like lightening, the ice that held everyone in place was shattered and the sweet old ladies quickly evacuated their seats, Gladys hurriedly shuffling her way to the rotary phone by the mahogany dining table. Plethoras of aged hands helped him out of his seat with a bit of effort and soon managed to get him lying down reasonably comfortably on the shag carpet floor.

Awkwardly balancing towels within her frail arms, Maurine carried them over to where Arthur was lying and was hurriedly placed them beneath his legs. Although he was in labour and very much appreciated the support, Arthur was still a nation. "Maurine, all of you, you really don't have to do this much. I-I'll be fine." He protested at defence of his dignity and not living up to his gentleman values, gulping down a whimper when a strong wave of pain rolled across his lower section.

"Nonsense dear!" Elizabeth exclaimed, placing a goose-feather pillow gently beneath his head. "We've all been through childbirth, and we know very well how it feels, so don't you fret, pet."

Smiling upon hearing the reassurances, England nodded, not willing to argue against six well versed ladies. His delicate mood, however, was soon broken when Gladys came back into the room.

"I've called for an ambulance, but they say they'll be about an hour, and with this weather, it may take a fair bit longer." Harsh wind rattled against the thin windows as if in agreement, the snowfall seeming unrelenting and amused by the situation of the nation, pushing itself to fall harder. The peak district was a beautiful place to visit, but when living there, scaling the icy hills was a difficult feat that practically only farmers managed in their tractors. And they were on the top of a rather large hill.

The grim news settled over England like a miasma, smothering him and making him worry about the worst possible situations that could happen from this. His worry, however, was soon replaced by determination. These were people he knew and trusted, so, if anything, he'd be better off with them than cold faced doctors and nurses. Through the haze of the panic, he had forgotten a very important factor and needed to get it sorted out before the pain took over his mind.

Reaching down into his right pocket, England pulled out his phone whilst Ruth boiled a pot of water and heated a pair of scissors on the stove and Evangeline collected sheets from all of the guest bedrooms. Pressing the call button on the top name of his contacts, England brought the device to his ear and waited for the phone to be picked up. After about eight rings the call was answered and an exuberant voice that could not be misplaced exclaimed,

"Heya Artie, how ya doin'?"

Feeling a slight relief upon hearing his lover's voice, too stressed to care about the nickname, Arthur replied, "Alfred, I'm sorry to shock you but-"

"If you're not Artie, then hi anyway! I'm probably being a hero right now, so leave a message after the tone!"

England paused, the monotone sound going completely past him. He was in labour, and Alfred was probably laughing his ass off in London over nothing and bothering his boss to no end whilst England would be forced to excruciatingly push out their child. Gentleman aside, Arthur completely forgot who he was in the company of as he shouted down the phone.

"YOU BLOODY FUCKING WANKER! I AM IN LABOUR AND YOU CAN'T EVEN PICK UP MY CALLS?! ALFRED FOSTER JONES, GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW OR GOD HELP ME I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU REGRET BEING BORN!"

In retrospect, it probably wasn't entirely Alfred's fault, but he was in labour and God dammit if that didn't earn him some sort of right to be pissed beyond belief. Remembering that he was in the presence of six sweet old ladies, Arthur went bug-eyed and promptly started spluttering apologies. "A-ah I'm t-terribly sorry about that. I r-really shouldn't have s-said such foul language in front of you all."

Elizabeth merely chuckled at his statement before replying, "It's fine dearie. The first time I went into labour, my Wilbur wasn't there either and by golly if his ears didn't ring the whole week after our child was born with the sound thrashing I gave him." She gave a small, sweet smile at the nostalgic memory before turning her attention back to Arthur. "But more importantly, how are you feeling Arthur?"

Thinking the question over in his head, his pride battled with his actual condition, but when he was hit by another wave of pain, and stronger this time, he decided to at least announce his true position. "I've been better I suppose."

Suddenly, the front door flew open as a snow covered Rosemary waddled in with a few logs of cut up wood, Gladys hurriedly closing the door behind her. "Maurine, be a duck and help me get a fire started, will you? It should make all of us more comfortable." As the team of old ladies worked together, England was given a nice, steaming cup of camomile tea by Ruth, thanking her in earnest gratitude as he sipped at it occasionally, wincing as the contractions became more frequent, stroking his bulging middle hoping to calm down his child.

About an hour passed in this fashion- England being doted upon by his old lady friends and they in turn constantly worrying over time as the ambulance refused to appear and the blizzard from the cold snap only got fiercer. However, it seemed that they had not expected the ambulance to come at all, and England was confronted with an embarrassing statement that he would be sure to never forget.

"Arthur, dear," Evangeline started hesitantly, "Not to startle you, but maybe it'd be best if you took off your trousers."

Well, that certainly wasn't something he was expecting to hear. Face flushing bright red with the embarrassing nature of the situation, he quickly stuttered, "B-but why?" A gentleman was never supposed to expose himself, especially in front of ladies.

The knitting group shared a hesitant glance at each other and Gladys decided to answer his question with, "Well considering the ambulance hasn't arrived yet and the snow storm has only gotten worse, a home birth seems like the only option, luv."

Mortified, Arthur slowly nodded his head in understanding and resigned to his fate as other supporting comments such as, "We've seen it all before, dear." were quipped by the ladies around him. Oh, he was going to _**castrate**_ Alfred when he got here.

* * *

Alfred was tired.

Though it was more of an exhaustion really, that latched onto him when he least suspected it. The workload from overseas was harrowing and he had to deal with England's boss complaining and his boss complaining and going to stupid meetings and bla bla bla bla bla bla bla. He was fed up to say the least. However, when he remembered the reason why he was going through this, his spirits were soon lifted again and he carried on with his work dutifully until he could see Arthur.

This day had been particularly bad.

Waking up at the crack of dawn so traffic wouldn't smother him, having gotten worse with the snow, Alfred was only able to stay at home for less than an hour before he was forced out of the door. On the drive to London, there had been multiple construction sites to hinder his journey, someone had scratched his car on the motorway and the meetings had been even more hectic than usual. It was during such said meeting that he had received a phone call, but had been too tired to see who it was, let alone answer it, and just absently let it go on to voice mail, deciding to check it when he was out of the meeting and on his lunch break.

Needless to say, not receiving the call had been one of the worst mistakes he'd made in years.

Arthur's booming and shrill voice echoed from the hallway when Alfred went to listen to the call and although the cussing had daunted him somewhat and he had drawn people out from their meeting rooms, he had something more important to worry about.

Arthur was in labour, and he wasn't there.

All of the problems that had built up over the day were soon forgotten as Alfred dashed out of the building without any care to the inhabitants inside. Slamming the car door behind himself, Alfred quickly started up the engine and made his way back to Arthur in the countryside. He could only pray that he'd get him to a hospital in time.

* * *

Groaning in pain, Arthur forcefully reprimanded himself not to think about the situation lest he be thrust into the deepest pit of mortification. His trousers and briefs had been removed almost an hour ago and he'd been lying on the floor, half naked and forcing himself not to moan at the increasing frequency of contractions for the good part of the early afternoon. The ambulance crew had still not arrived, seemingly haven given up on the situation, and he'd heard not a single word from Alfred.

Although he didn't expect a huge hullabaloo of fanfare to come with labour, he didn't expect it to be this calm either. Although constantly in a state of embarrassment, when the contractions weren't keen on seeing to his untimely and unseemly demise, he and his friends would talk about their past experiences and embarrassing events, making him relax around their company more with each passing minute.

Now however, it was a bit more difficult.

With barely minutes between his contractions left, they were all drawing to the conclusion that, really, England _would_ have to give birth in the small cottage with the limited supplies of a first aid kit and an 81 year old nurse who had retired quite some time ago. Keeping a stiff upper lip, Arthur announced quietly and somewhat reluctantly, "I feel like I want to start pushing..."

Receiving hums of understanding and acknowledgement in response, Arthur found himself with Evangeline running her frail fingers through his hair and rubbing his back, Elizabeth holding and squeezing his hand hand with Ruth, the ex-nurse in question, being between his legs. Though he would never admit it due to being in such a shameful situation, Arthur was very thankful for their help and support, despite not showing it.

With not much else to do, England lay back and waited for the agonising pressure in his lower half to build up, and, when it reached a breaking point, he pushed. Spikes of pain ran through him as he felt as if he would tear in two, grunting slightly through the pain. The burning sensation only became more prominent as time passed on and soon, it felt as if the weight of the world was pressing down on Arthur's shoulders, exertion beginning to take a hold of him.

Sweat beading on his brow, pushing took more and more effort as he felt his breaths come and leave in short, painful pants. He had been through excruciating pain before. He'd survived through both world wars, and, if human, he'd be practically nothing but scar tissue by now. However, the simple process of pushing was beginning to turn into a vapid drain of energy and England, for once in his life, felt the slight want to give up.

As if sensing England's exhaustion, his friends seemed to double their efforts and soon took to supporting him through the ordeal of childbirth.

"No pain, no gain Arthur."

"You're a former empire, surely you can do this!"

"Keep calm and carry on."

Nodding his head in thanks, England gave a small smile before continuing on with the task, renewed vigour accompanying him. Around twenty minutes later, England faintly heard Ruth exclaim excitedly, "The baby is crowning." Steeling himself for the hardest process, Arthur grit his teeth together and pushed in tandem with the urges to do so. And dear God did it _**burn.**_ Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes in not only pain, but the fear that something may very well tear. Knowing this stage only lasted for a few minutes didn't help, every second feeling like fire pulsating through his nether regions as he forcefully resisted the urge to cry out.

Smiling slightly which gently supporting the bloody head in gloved hands, Ruth announced, "That's the hardest part done, only a bit left to go now dear." The announcement sounded like music to England's ears, and, after waiting a few moments longer, he began pushing again. Though the pressure was smaller and the stage was less painful, keeping his eyes open felt like a near impossible feat, and with every heaving push, Arthur felt all too willing to faint.

However, he continued onward, as if he had much of a choice, and within fifteen minutes, the rest of his child slid fairly easily out. It wasn't until he heard his child's first cries that he truly realised that, indeed he was now a mother. Panting in exertion and lacking the strength to speak, England merely held him arms out weakly, waiting until his baby was washed and dried and was soon handed to him with a gentle whisper of, "It's a girl." by one of the women.

Situation all but forgotten by now, Arthur held the babe up to his chest protectively, completely in awe of her tiny size and small tufts of wheat blonde hair that perched delicately on her head. However, it was her eyes that truly blew him away. She had the brightest sky blue eyes, just like her father. He was so entrapped in her that he didn't notice the placenta being cut after a few minutes, of which a disinfected peg was swiftly attached onto.

What did draw him away for his child, however, was the sound of the front door being violently opened and the sound of footsteps scurrying in to the living room, a loud and concern laden voice shouting,

"Artie! Please tell me I'm-"

Snapping his head up, Arthur discovered the comical image of America and two other paramedics halting in their tracks in the doorway to the room. Arthur silently thanked Gladys for putting a blanket over his near nude form, but it didn't cover up the blood that had soaked into the carpet. Too tired to be embarrassed, England merely held their sleeping child closer to child chest, covering her ears, looked America dead in the eyes, and exclaimed, "Took your bloody time!"


End file.
